The Nightingale One Early Dawn Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

Ah what a unique singing style,
Thine melody is made of single note,
At spring time gets persistent and remote,
Thine poignant Fifth pulsates from a mile.

Ye bring to my mind early Vedic chant,
A short melody most ancient,
Or folk refrain that never fails to haunt,
Among birds most magnificent.

I wonder if it wert thou to inspire
That, Vedic chants were short and sweet—
Only a few notes rising higher,
A unique feat hard to repeat!

King art thou among solo singers,
Ye need no'ne to accompany,
Thine soulful drone— what harmony!
Full symphony that far long lingers.

Thine Pancham's1 so powerfully prest,
So pervasive, O Nightingale,
It caresses octave's high crest,
But kisses as if entire scale.

A singer art thou elusive,
Ye sing a lone note and roam alone
No augmented short microtone,
Sure, maestros oft come reclusive.

When monsoon comes, goes when warm spring,
It's fair and fine ye go silent
With none to appreciate talent,
And raucous frogs drown thine singing.

How good still year round if ye sing
And be my morning alarm ring!
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Pancham1: In Hindustani music it is the note Pa, the Fifth of the scale, also known in West as sol or G. The nightingale of spring, or cuckoo, repeatedly calls out in this note.
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Images | 02.04.08 |